


A Variation

by themuller



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), London Spy
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, 00QAD - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 14:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10721061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: Q buys a newspaper and spills a cup of tea.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [narcissusneverknewme (Daffadowndilly)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daffadowndilly/gifts).



> Once again, no beta, no brit-pick, English is not my first language - and [a-forger-and-a-point-man](http://a-forger-and-a-point-man.tumblr.com) is to blame, together with [narcissusneverknewme](http://narcissusneverknewme.tumblr.com), who sent this prompt:
> 
> What about Alex and Q being brothers instead? Think about it: high IQ, difficulty with regular social interaction, mild paranoia, attraction to dangerous lifestyles... Imagine if they both independently got involved in the spy world and neither knew about the other until...
> 
> ...and afaapm answered: WE NEED THIS VARIATION OF 00QAD!!! (her capitals not mine)
> 
> Well, here we go.

Q looked with disbelief at the photos in the newspaper. He had worked a night shift, returning early this morning, just in time to see the lurid headlines of the tabloids spread all over the newsstands. He had walked by several booths before he realised that people turned their heads looking after him. A bit upset, he decided to buy the Daily Mail, only to be treated with the utmost rudeness by the seller.

Safely back home, Q made himself a nice cup of tea before sitting down at the kitchen table with the paper in front of him. His cats had made themselve scarce once he had greeted and fed them properly. Opening the paper, almost had Q dropping his mug. A picture of him was looking back at him.

And then he actually dropped the mug. The hot tea spilled all over the paper. Q cursed, trying to salvage the dripping paper from further destruction, before he started to clean up the table and the floor underneath. His mind was racing, trying to make any sense of the photos in the article.

He decided on a new cup of tea, before he dared to take another look at the paper. Once more his eyes roamed the page and found the black and white picture of another young man at the bottom of the article. Q’s breath hitched and he covered his mouth with his hand.

 _No, no, no, no._ His mind was screaming at him. _This had to be fake. How could this be real?_

Tears welled up in his eyes, while he read the blurry lines in front of him. The pictures and drawings provided a far too vivid explanation of what seemed to have transpired between the two men. He read and reread the article several times, before he eventually sat back and took off his glasses to rub his eyes.

He cleaned his mug and made yet another cup of tea, walking to the kitchen window and looking out at a rainy, grey London. He could just make out the headquarters on the other side of the river. A bit further down, out of sight, would be the building in which ‘Alistair Turner’ had met his fate. Viciously, he provided the quotes in his mind. He refused to call his babybrother anything but Alexander.

He sipped his tea, thinking back. Back to a childhood characterised by an absent father and a mother who was unable to provide a safe and loving environment for her two children, both too bright for their own good. When Frances came into their life, Q had trusted her, believed like only a six year old child could believe that everything would turn out for the better. That Frances would help Mum, would watch over them like some kind of good fairy.

Q huffed. How wrong, how very wrong he had been. Frances managed to take Alexander away from them. And only a few weeks later, Q would be taken as well. Not to Frances’ house. Oh no, she had no interest in the scrawny, black haired kid, who would fight back whenever his brother was treated unfairly.

Q’s hands curled into fists and he had to put down the mug, overwhelmed by the memories. No, he was not reunited with his brother. He was taken away from his family, his home. Kicking and screaming, two social workers were needed to get him into the back of a car, taking him far away from everything he knew and loved.

He would spend ten years in the children's home. As much as he would miss his mother, the loss of his brother was the worst part. It would keep him awake at night, wondering what had happened to him. He would wake in the middle of the night, crying out his name.

But despite his misery, he later realised how lucky he had been. Ms Forger, the undisputed head of the institution, was able to provide a truly supportive and loving environment for the orphans and displaced children given in her custody. She would listen, observe, and gently assess every new member of her small congregation until she knew how to best provide new challenges and tender care for each of them. Her unending patience was put to a test when Q arrived. It took three long weeks, before she was able to tease out the first tentative smile from him. Another two weeks, before he would start to answer with more than one or two word sentences. When he started out in the new school, Ms Forger would walk with him and the other children in the morning and collect them in the afternoon. Over several cups of tea, they would tell each other about their day, laugh and cry, tease and play.

Q swallowed. He had been fond of Ms Forger, had loved his new brothers and sisters. Together, they had been a family who would help and support each other. Most of the children were too old to be adoptable, which meant that the bond between them would become a strong one. Guided by Ms Forger, Q was able to attend college and later the university.

In the end, it was Eve, one of his friends from the home, who would help him start out in a minor position at MI6 as a technical support analyst. His advancement to quartermaster followed soon after. During all these years, he had never given up on finding Alexander. But Frances had erased every possible trace back to her and their mother. He learned from Ms Forger that he literally had been dumped in front of the home with barely any information on him or his family. It would take years before Q found out about his last name being ‘Wimsey’. By then, no record of Alexander’s or his birth could be found.

He never had known Frances last name. Not until now. Turner. Alistair Turner. Q shuddered and wiped away the new tears. He took the mug and turned back towards the article. He needed to get into contact with this other guy, this Daniel Holt. And he needed more information on what really had transpired in that attic. There were a couple of things that didn’t add up. And, god, he needed Bond to get home and be held by him, have him help with this. Q could not believe that his brother was dead. He didn’t want to believe it.

First things first. Daniel Holt should be easy enough to find. And Bond should be back tomorrow evening. Enough time to get basic intel on the case and the people involved. Q could feel a new kind of energy blossoming inside of him. He had known that becoming quartermaster would one day prove to be very helpful in finding his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q takes the tube.

“M’am!”

With a terse nod, Q closed the door behind him. He was furious, clutching his laptop bag like a shield. Tanner had summoned him to M’s office only hours after Q had started his search for Daniel Holt and one ‘Alistair Turner’. It felt wrong to type the name, but it was all he had. It had been easy enough to find more articles and smaller notices reporting the crime, but none had brought any further information. When Tanner called, Q had just finished setting up a not too legal search of MI6’s databases.

He managed to get unnoticed back to headquarters but the walk up to M’s office turned into a gauntlet of raised eyebrows, knowing smirks, and whispers loud enough for him to hear. Eve looked questioningly at him, but before they could talk the office door opened and Q entered cautiously.

M had several papers spread out in front of her and Tanner stood beside the office desk, shifting uneasily with the everpresent folder in his hand. Q sighed and resignedly sat down in one of the chairs, his bag by his side.

“Care to explain, quartermaster?”

Q shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m trying to find Holt and get more information on the case—“

“You are telling me this is your doppelgänger?”

M looked disbelieving at him. Q stared at her. Did she really?

“Why? Yes, of course!”

“And you had no idea this man, this Holt person, was living right here, under your very nose?”

Q shook his head. _What was going on?_

“Sorry, I—M’am, what are you trying to tell me?”

Tanner cleared his throat and looked at M for permission to speak. With an impatient nod she leaned back in her armchair.

“Q, we have tried to find Holt. He doesn’t exist. Except,” subdued he waved at Q. “Except, you are right here and all the files we could find point directly at you.”

Q gaped at him. This was not happening. With a clack he shut his mouth and looked between M and Tanner. His mind was racing.

“What,” his voice broke, and he swallowed hard, trying to keep calm. “What did you find on Ale-, on Turner?”

His fingers were digging into his trousers and he was sure that he had broken skin.

Again, Tanner looked at M for permission before he opened the file in his hand. M was by now looking out of the window with disgust written all over her face.

“Alistair Turner, bank manager, with a submissive, masochistic sex life. Apparently, he and,” Tanner’s voice faltered and he looked nervously at Q. “He and ‘Holt’ have been an item for the past eight months—“

“Oh for god’s sake, Tanner,” M interrupted angrily and turned back to Q. “What were you thinking?”

She paused, clearly trying to compose herself.

“Honestly, I would have thought 007 should have been able to keep you satisfied.”

Horrified, Tanner looked from M to Q. Without another word, Q rose from the chair and stepped forward and loomed over the desk. M didn’t budge.

“I am not Daniel Holt, M’am,” the last word just a sneer.

He straightened his back and looked M in her eyes. She didn’t blink and neither did he.

“I’ll be taking some time off.”

Not waiting for an answer, he turned and opened the door.

They didn’t stop him and Q didn’t even acknowledge Eve as he walked past her desk and found the fastest way out of the building. This! This was all Frances’ doing. After all these years, and she still found a way to humiliate him, to put him down.

Q ran down the next tube station and just jumped into the train at the platform, not caring which line it was or where it went. He found a seat in the back of the coach. They hadn’t stopped him, but he might still get an email which put him on suspension. How could they even think that he would do this to Bond? And Tanner of all people! His mind was reeling. He was so angry he couldn’t concentrate, couldn't think.

He let his head fall back against the wall, lolling in tune with the shocks and rhythm of the train. The movement of it was weirdly soothing. The small windows were open, the noise too loud for conversation, pervading his mind and turning it blissfully blank.

Like so many times before, the train ride grounded him. During the next hours he changed lines a few times, never caring which way he actually went. Rush hour had come and gone, when Q finally decided to return home.

He arrived at the flat late in the night. Oblivious to his surroundings, he made it up the stairs, opening the door and taking off his coat, before he realised that someone already was in the flat. Light shone through from under the kitchen door and the cats were nowhere to be seen. Bond must have returned early. Q found his mobile, turned off and forgotten in his laptop bag. With apprehension he turned it on and logged in. Five text messages from Bond and two voice mails, probably from him as well. Q’s bag slid down to the floor, ignored. Biting his lip, Q looked at the closed kitchen door. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and opened the door.

Bond looked up from the paper, now dried and neatly laid out on the table. He had a cup of tea in his hand and another one placed on the table together with some freshly made sandwiches on a plate.

They looked at each other without a word. Q was fumbling his mobile and worrying his bottom lip, shifting on his feet. A moment passed and then Bond stood, crossing the room and embracing Q, hugging him tight. They stood like that for a long while. Q burrowing his face in Bond’s shoulder, slumping bonelessly against his body, trusting Bond to hold him. Bond nuzzled into Q’s hair, kissing his temple and pulling him closer, so close, enveloping him and shielding him from the world.

Q made a small sound and Bond walked them backwards, like a dancer with a puppet. He managed to sit back down in his chair without letting go of Q. Arranging him on his lap, his legs hanging on one side of the chair and Q’s upper body draped along Bond’s chest, Q’s head firmly lodged in the crook of Bond’s neck, he used his free hand to pull the mugs and plate closer. Nudging Q, he began feeding him. Letting him nibble at a sandwich and making him take small sips of tea, sweat and strong at the same time.

It felt like Bond had created a small, safe bubble, keeping the raging demands and challenges of the world firmly outside the serenity of their kitchen. The cats were watching from the window sill, as if approving of the small scene playing out in front of them. Q could feel himself relax, the knot in his stomach becoming undone. _Just a few more moments,_ he thought, _a little while longer, then we’ll talk._

Bond had a small smile on his face when he felt Q grow heavy in his arms. Carefully, he stood and carried him into their bedroom, drawing back the duvet and placing him gently on the sheets. Like so many times before, he took off Q’s clothes, tenderly moving the pliant body without waking him. He undressed himself, turned off the lights and with a satisfied sigh lied down beside Q, spooning him, and draping the duvet around the two of them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q and Bond have breakfast.

Q woke to the smell of fresh coffee and toast. He stretched languidly, relishing the warmth under the duvet. He could hear Bond tinkering about in the kitchen, probably preparing a nice cup of Earl Grey for him. Somehow, Bond always knew exactly when Q would be ready for his morning cuppa. He kept his eyes closed and tried not to think about yesterday. He hadn’t had time to check his mail, but he would be surprised if there wouldn’t be a mail from Tanner stating his suspension.

This put Q’s mind back on track. He sat up, fumbled for his glasses, and rushed into the kitchen. Without a greeting, he opened his laptop and logged on. Magically, his mug appeared by his hand, while he was restarting several programmes on the mainframe and looking for the result of his search from the day before. He was just about to take a sip when he slowly put down his mug, and with his mouth still open, gestured to Bond to just continue whatever he was doing. As silent as possible, he got up from his chair, pushed a few keys and went for their bathroom.

Bond was left in the kitchen, starting to fry mushrooms and tomatoes, while the cats tried convincing him into throwing them a piece of bacon. By all means calm on the outside, Bond had his attention trained on the smallest sounds coming from Q, the rest of the flat, the world outside. Something was wrong. Q’s hand signal had meant as much.

A few moments later, Q emerged from the bathroom, his shaver in his hand. He walked through every room, waving the shaver and watching the little green light on its handle. When he returned to the kitchen, he took a sweep of the room as well. Finally, he sat down and moved the shaver over his laptop. The light turned red, then green again. With a satisfied sigh, he grabbed his mug and leaned back in his chair. Bond looked expectantly at him.

“I think,” Q said with a smirk and a nod at their fluffy white cat, “I think, Pam had proven her worth. You remember how irritated she was the other day?”

Bond looked surprised at Pam. The cat was throning on the window sill, looking disdainfully at Bond. He hadn’t budged and the bacon was now sizzling in the frying pan.

“Yes,” Bond finally answered with a frown. “She tried to attack me for real, what, eleven days ago? Just before I had to leave for the last mission?” He paused, turning the bacon. “But, what has that got to do with any of this?”

He waved at the paper. Q looked puzzled at first, then he realised that they still hadn’t talked about the article. About his brother. About MI6. He drew a deep breath and took a sip of his cooling tea.

“It’s my brother.”

Bond looked at the paper.

“You never told me, you were twins.”

Q groaned and rubbed his eyes under his glasses.

“Holt is not my brother! And before you start, I am not Holt!”

Now it was Bond’s turn to look puzzled.

“M. M thinks I’m Holt. She thinks,” Q swallowed more tea, trying to suppress the returning anger. “Apparently, I have had an affair with, with ‘Alistair Turner’.”

He gestured the quotes for emphasis. Bond grinned and Q could feel himself relax a bit. The two of them had been through a lot already, but somewhere deep down Q had worried whether Bond would have the same stupid idea as M and Tanner.

“This,” Q pointed at the small black and white picture, “this is my brother. Alexander. Alex.”

Bond took out two plates and arranged mushrooms, tomatoes, bacon and eggs together with toast, giving one to Q and taking the seat across the table with his own plate and cup of coffee.

“How can you be sure? You haven’t seen him since he was three and you were, you were six, right?”

It was a genuine question, not an accusation or disbelief. As much as Q had talked about his brother in the past, Bond was well aware that Frances had been able to hide away any evidence of him even existing. This wouldn’t be the first time, Q was sure he had a new lead, only to be disappointed yet again. They had been able to keep MI6 out of Q’s investigation, mostly because Q was sure Frances had ties to both intelligence services and he wouldn’t risk incriminating his brother through his search.

“Look at the names of his ‘parents’.”

The quote marks were again emphasised and Bond couldn’t hide a small smile.

“It says, Charles and Frances Turner. Charles and Frances. And he is a genius.”

Q began to eat, digging into the food with much appetite. Bond waited with his next question. Q needed to eat. As always, he was pants at taking care of himself when Bond was on a mission.

“Q,” Bond said quietly when Q had finished most of his serving. “What makes you so sure he is still alive?”

Q stopped eating and looked down at his plate. When he looked up, he had tears in his eyes.

“Before Tanner called, yesterday, I had been looking through other articles and what I could find on the Internet. There are so many things that don’t add up.” He shook his head. “James, I can’t lose him. Not like this. He just has to be out there. Somewhere.”

The pleading eyes had Bond up and on the other side of the table in a second. He sat down on the chair beside Q and drew him into a hug.

“Sh, love, it’s okay. We’ll find him.”

“Yes,” Q sniffled. “Yes, we have to. And Holt. He must be able to help us. This has Frances written all over.”

With a huff, he composed himself and sat back up.

“Look,” he pointed at the laptop. “I had a search running on our databases yesterday. This came up.”

He started a video clip. It was grainy but one could easily discern two bodies in a passionate embrace. For a short moment, a face very much like Q’s was to be seen, before the moving bodies once more obscured the faces of the two men. Q had turned a light shade of pink.

“I thought,” he cleared his throat. “Well, I thought somebody had installed surveillance in here, in our flat.”

Bond grinned and winked at Q.

“I think, we would have put on a better show than these two, don’t you?”

Q just scowled at him.

“Anyway, remember Pam? I think somebody tried to get in, but she wouldn’t have let them.”

Bond cast an appreciative glance at the cat, still perched on the sill overlooking her kingdom.

“She’s really quite the assassin, isn’t she?” He turned back to Q. “Why should Frances try to spy on us? How would she know where to find us, find you?”

“I don’t believe it’s Frances. It says Alexander was a spy. I’m afraid it’s someone from Six.” Q fell silent for a while. “God, to think Alexander was this close all the time and I’ve never found him.”

The tears were threatening again and Bond stood to prepare a new cup of tea.

“What else did you find?”

Q sent him a grateful smile. Back to business it was.

“I’ll have to watch the videos. It seems as if they had Holt under surveillance. And they, whoever they are, are searching for something. Something, Holt may have. They took the place where he lived apart, shortly after Alexander disappeared.”  
“You know where he lives? Let’s talk with him as soon as possible.”

“No. No, I’m not sure where he is. I mean, why would M or Tanner think it’s me? It’s as if Holt is gone, as if he never even existed.”

Q clicked through pictures and notes, reading and thinking. A new cup of tea was placed beside his right hand.

“Hm, that’s interesting. He seems to be a good friend of Scottie’s.”

Bond looked up from his tablet, trying to find some of the articles Q was talking about. Nothing much had been written on Turner’s alleged killing.

“Scottie? He had been over at MI5, hasn’t he? Before he was demoted?” Bond shook his head. “Always wondered how stupid his bosses had been back then. Should I start with him then?”

“James, I—“ Q paused and looked unsure. “I haven’t read my mail yet, but I’m sure I’ve been suspended pending further whatever. They think I did this, James. If you start digging around—“

Bond shook his head with a smile, cocking his eyebrow.

“You don’t honestly believe I’ll let you fight these bastards alone now, do you? We’re in this together. And if someone from our department is trying to frame you—“ Bond paused ominously.

Q smiled widely for the first time this morning.

“Well then, 007. Let’s devise a strategy.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny has a hangover and Alex returns from the dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm... I'm sorry.

This was turning into just another disaster, Danny thought looking into the fireplace. Despite the fire burning, the large room of the manor felt cold and desolate. First the cock-up with the paper and now this. Scottie was going to have a fit. He had told him time and again to put things to a rest. Alex was dead and gone, murdered by people unknown. Powerful people who were able to put the blame on Danny. People, who manipulated the police and press, as Danny had witnessed over the past weeks. Hiding out at Scottie’s he had tried to find the truth in this web of lies. When Sara had texted him about the letter from Alex’s parents, he had believed that he finally would find the truth about Alex, his work, the code-locked cylinder which was hidden away safely at Danny’s secret place. At least one thing, he had got right.

He was in over his head.

He should have listened to Scottie. These people were mad. Every time he uncovered a bit of the truth, a new layer of lies were thrown at him. He felt like the fly in a spider’s web and he had no idea who or what the spider were.

And now Frances was explaining about Alex, trying to convince Danny of his lover’s promiscuity and ferocious sexual appetite. Danny listened crushing the offered cigarette in his hand, while clutching the tumblr in his other hand . When he finally spoke, the quiet anger was palpable in his voice.

“I haven’t read many books. I haven’t been to many places. But I have fucked a lot of people. And there is one thing you just can’t fake,” Danny paused to better deliver the punchline. “ _Inexperience_. The body’s tense when it should relax. It hurts when it should be fun. And it’s dirty when it should be clean.”

Danny hit back the rest of his drink. Frances was as inscrutable as she had been the whole evening. More and more Danny came to understand why Alex had hesitated to divulge his upbringing to him. What he still didn’t understand about Frances was the fact that she actively tried to convince him of Alex being dead, being anything but a virgin. He said so to her face, before he turned and walked out the door.

Frances had one last warning to him.

“Daniel,” she said his name with the utmost contempt. “You have been given proper advise several times now. No fuss. Leave it be.”

Danny turned towards her, shaking his head in utter disbelief.

“When Alex told me you were dead, he wasn’t lying, was he?”

Danny found his way back to Alex’s room. The loneliest room in the house. A fitting place right now, Danny thought. As forlorn and unhappy as he felt. Not caring about shifting into his pyjamas, he laid down on the bed, curling in on himself. He felt sleepy and his limps felt heavy. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine how Alex must have felt in this place. With an uncaring mother, a distant father. He couldn’t concentrate and drifted off into a deep sleep.

His head hurt and his mouth felt dry. He groaned silently, trying to think back to the night before. Not sure if he hadn’t dreamt his encounter with Frances. He felt like back in the days when he did drugs. A heavy hangover and not knowing what happened the night before. Only, he could remember. He was at the big, gloomy house. Alex’s home. Unloving, cold. Silent. And Frances had kept calling Alex ‘Alistair’. He turned in the bed and squinted.

This was the wrong room. The bed felt—different. The smell was different as well. Less antiseptic. The light was dim, but Danny could just make out a shadow looming beside a small window. Were those bars? He tried to sit up, only to fall down on the bed with a loud groan.

“I’m sorry, Danny. I’m so so sorry.”

Danny tried to shake his head. This couldn’t be true. It sounded like Alex. His Alex. He was still sleeping. He had to be. This didn’t make sense. He closed his eyes, tried to breathe through the pain in his head, the fuzziness in his mind. What the hell had he been drinking yesterday?

Someone touched him and he flinched.

“Here, try to drink.”

Alex’s voice. A gentle hand pressing a glass of cold water to his lips, holding his head while he was drinking. At least Danny hoped it was water. He gulped it down anyway, feeling a little bit better afterwards. He held his eyes closed. He was dizzy. And he was afraid, afraid that he was dreaming. He could feel someone sitting close. There was warmth and the quiet sounds of someone breathing. He recognised the scent like he had the voice. His own breathing became faster, shallow. His whole body was tensing up but he felt light headed as if he was floating. He squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to come back to the harsh reality. Lies. So many lies. Frances had put something in his drink. He was hallucinating. He had to. The police had told him, it was Alex in the trunk. They had called him Alistair, but he knew better. What if it was a lie? What if their love had been a lie? A lie like Frances had explained? Like the police woman had laid out for him?

He summoned all his courage, his hopes, dreams and desire—and opened his eyes.

The world came to a standstill. He stopped breathing. Lifting his right hand, spreading his fingers, he mirrored Alex’s moves the last night they had been together. When he had told Alex his darkest secret. And Alex had said _I love you_. And the man beside the bed, the man who looked exactly like Alex, he lifted his hand as well. When their fingers touched, they pressed their palms against each other. Danny made a small sound and then gasped for air. Alex just stared at him with his large eyes, tears welling up. Danny smiled, blinked several times and tried to hold back his own tears.

Alex didn’t disappear. This was real.

Danny’s smile became wider and his fingers entwined with Alex’s. Watching him closely, he pulled him forward, embracing him. Alex knelt down beside the bed, bending over Danny. His free hand brushed tenderly along Alex’s face, exploring the well-known features, hesitating when he encountered new wrinkles, when he felt the too prominent cheek bone. All his senses were trained on the man towering over him, filling his whole world. Their joined hands rested across Danny’s chest, and Danny’s free hand continued its journey, caressing Alex’s brow and finally combing through his hair.

Alex sat still, his eyes dark, tears flowing freely now. Danny’s finger traced their way down towards Alex’s chin. Danny looked at his wet fingers. He thought back to their very first meeting, when Alex had looked at him in wonder. Had asked him. Danny looked back up at Alex.

“Are you okay?”

He said it with a smile in his voice, with the deep relief he felt about having found Alex. And Alex tried to answer, knew what Danny was trying to do, what he was hinting at. His lips were trembling and he just shook his head, never taking his eyes away from Danny.

Danny’s smile didn’t falter. How could it? Alex was alive, he was here, right beside him, touching him, holding him. They would talk, help each other, be together again. No more secrets, no more lies.

He moved his head to the side, nudging at Alex, who was quietly sobbing with relief when he bent down. They kept their eyes open right until their lips met. Tentative, just the slightest contact, brushing along the lines of their lips. Alex’s full, soft lips against Danny’s chapped, his stubble tickling rather than scratching. Alex pushed into the feeling, his lips nibbling along Danny’s upper lip. When Danny’s lips parted, Alex pulled his hand away from Danny’s and clasped Danny’s head between his hands. They looked at each other, both panting. Their mouths open, waiting, wanting. Alex closed the distance, his tongue darting out, exploring lips, pushing inside. Danny pushed up, let Alex take the lead, his hands drawing him closer, finding their way under his shirt, letting his hands roam over the muscular back, feeling naked skin under his callused fingertips.

Alex was ravenous, his kisses and licks turned into love bites, sucking marks into white unblemished skin. Danny whispered encouraging nonsense, egging him on by offering his neck, stretching to give better access. Moans turned into whines when Alex let go to breathe, returned to devour what was freely given to him, when both of them fumbled to get undressed, barely managing to open buttons and pull down zippers. In the end, shirts and trousers were pushed down and out of the way, pants still on, and they were impatiently humping each other, lost in each others arms, grabbing, clutching, just holding on and finally pushing each other over the edge, coming in their pants like teenagers.

Danny was the first to regain some kind of awareness, kissing Alex gently on the cheek, nuzzling along his neck. He got hold of the blanket and draped it over the two of them. Alex had gone quiet and was watching him through half-lidded eyes. When Danny bent down to kiss him, Alex caressed Danny’s cheek, savouring the feeling of satisfaction. As Danny watched Alex closely, he saw the slow change in his eyes. The look of wonder was turned into sadness. Before Danny could ask what was wrong, he heard a key turned in a lock.

Surprised he turned his head when the only door in the room opened. Frances stood in the door frame, scorn apparent in every fiber of her body.

“I would have expected more from you, Alistair!”

Her voice was like ice. The warm body in Danny’s arms felt like a limbless doll, all life draining from Alex.

“And Peter, I didn’t believe you really would go this far. Then again, you always were a deviant child.”

Danny gaped at Frances.

“Peter?”

“Oh, stop pretending you don’t know Alistair is your brother. What did he tell you, Alistair? That you met randomly?”  
“What are you talking about, Frances?”

He could feel Alex cringe under the blanket.

“You were six years old. Surely, you remember the children’s home? When did they adopt you? I’m surprised anybody wanted you at all.”

Danny was speechless.

“Alistair, I expect you to start working on the programme again tomorrow. Remember what I told you. Peter will suffer.”

Without another word, she turned and shut the door behind her. They could hear her turning the key in the lock.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is in a make-believe bathtub and Bond visits a pub with Scottie.

“Alex?”

As baffled as Danny was about Frances’s announcement, it was Alex’s reaction that worried him the most. He had curled in on himself, facing away from Danny and shivering violently. Danny sat up on the bed and tried to mollify him with gentle caresses.

“Who is Peter? And why should he suffer?”

Danny waited a moment and when no answer was given, he bent down and kissed Alex tenderly on his head.

“I’ll try and find something to clean us up with. You wouldn’t have two pairs of boxers lying around here somewhere, would you?”

Taking Danny by surprise, Alex answered this time.

“In the middle drawer. And there are washcloths beside the sink.”

His voice was hoarse and he couldn’t look at Danny. Taking a view around the room, Danny realised it was designed like a large prison cell. Toilet, sink and a shower were shielded off by a wall and shower curtain. There was a large desk, a chest of drawers, and the bed he was sitting on. The floor was covered with a thick rug. And the window, set high in the wall over the desk, was indeed covered with bars. With an acquiescent sigh, Danny slipped out of his trousers and walked over to the chest. In the middle drawer boxers and briefs were neatly sorted and folded beside colour coded socks. He smiled at well known order of things. Likewise, the washcloths were kept tidily hanging beside the sink. He took off his pants and cleaned himself, before putting a clean pair of boxers.Then he returned to Alex, who had watched him from the bed.

“May I?”

Danny waited for an answer, just indicating Alex’s soiled pants. Alex looked at him with his big blue eyes and swallowed nervously. He nodded and Danny sat quietly to work.

“Could we pretend that I am in the bathtub?” Alex said in his quiet, distinct voice.

Without hesitating, Danny put away washcloth and pants, then sat down beside the bed, arms folded on the bed, his head cocked to the side.

“You are no longer alone, Alex.”

The smile on his face was genuine. The knowledge that Alex was alive, that he was with him again—Danny felt a deep contentment. They sat in silence for a long while, Danny caressing Alex’s arms with light strokes, his fingers gliding calmingly over the tense muscles. When Alex finally started to talk, he was looking up at the ceiling.

“I was three when Frances took me away from my mother.”

Alex’s voice was composed, peaceful even.

“She thought I wouldn’t remember. But I do.”

He fell silent and Danny didn’t push. He knew Alex would get there in his own time.

“I have a brother. Peter. When Frances took me, she had him taken away, too.”

Danny kept silent, placing an encouraging hand on Alex’s chest.

“When I saw you, that first morning on the bridge,” Alex turned and looked at Danny with wide, sad eyes. “For a second I believed you to be Peter. You look like I have imagined he would look like. Now. Grown up.”

Danny stilled his movements. He met Alex’s eyes, unable to voice the question.Was it all a lie?

“I love you, Danny. I did then and I do now.”

Alex lifted his left arm, his touch uncertain, hesitating when his fingers ghosted along Danny’s lips, over the stubble, up along his cheek, his forehead. Danny pushed into the touch, kissing the palm of Alex’s hand, nuzzling his nose along his wrist.

“I don’t know why Frances thinks Peter would come for me. He was just a little boy, when they took him.”

“You are his brother.”

“I was a toddler.”

They were silent again, Danny casually touching Alex’s chest, Alex gently combing through Danny’s wild curls.

“He played with me. Gave me riddles or found paper and a pencil, so I could write and draw.”

Danny smiled sadly.  
“I’ve never had a sibling.”

“You had your parents.”

Now it was Danny’s turn to look away. Alex turned his head and watched him closely. His eyes traced every little twitch and crease, observed and registered the way, Danny’s eyes narrowed, how his look became distant.

“My father hit me. I’m not sure how old I was the first time. Probably three or four. Mum tried to stop him at first. He would hit her too, then. It got better when I started school.”

Alex had put his hand on Danny’s, grounding him. He never took his eyes away fro Danny’s face.

“I came out to them when I was nineteen. Had to leave home immediately. That’s when I met Scottie. I haven’t seen them since.”

Alex pulled Danny down on him in a soft embrace. Danny sighed.

“Scottie knows.”

Danny lifted his head and looked at Alex with a small smile.

“Scottie knows, I’m here. He’ll do something. Come and save us.”

-x-

It had been easy to find Scottie. Maybe too easy, Q pondered while he was tracking Bond’s way through London on the various CCTVs. Hacking into the system was easy, as was erasing the evidence of Bond’s rogue mission. As Q had predicted, M had put him on suspension pending further inquiries. No matter which databases Q had tried to hack and searched, ‘Daniel Edward Holt’ was a non-existent entity. Except for the papers, nothing substantial showed. No address, no driver’s licence. Nothing. Which made finding Scottie at first try even more suspicious. Did Frances not know of their connection? Didn’t she know who Scottie was? Or was this a ruse, a trap for Q to— well, to do what exactly?

As it was, they would have Bond accidentally meet up with Scottie after work. Bond knew Scottie from his days in the navy, back when Scottie still was a succesfull agent. They had planned to explain about Holt, hoping Scottie would help them find him.

Q still felt uneasy about the whole setup. He watched Bond on the small black and white screen. He was closing in on the figure in front of him, an elderly man with an umbrella and a briefcase, walking slowly along the embankment. With a few clicks, Q deleted the video from the server, leaving no trace of him doing so. Changing to another CCTV, he followed the two men who now were talking to each other. Q turned on the comms.

“James?” Scottie sounded surprised.

“Scottie.”

Q noted the urgency in Bond’s voice. He hoped, Scottie was able to interpret it the way it was intended. On the camera he could see Scottie turn around and look directly at the camera. Q wasn’t surprised. If he was as good as Bond had explained, he would know when he was under surveillance. Bond turned as well, waving. Q let the camera dip down and up again, the movement clearly visible to both Bond and Scottie. Bond smiled while Scottie frowned before turning his attention back to Bond.

“Where can we talk?”

Bond asked, taking Scottie’s arm and starting to walk. Scottie kept silent. Q continued to delete the video while watching any activities nearby. He was sure Bond had kept clear from any pursuers, now he needed to keep it that way.

They went inside a small pub and Q kept scanning the area for any suspicious looking persons. Nothing showed up while he was listening in on their conversation. He could hear Bond ordering two pints and then some shuffling and background noises from the pub. They must have found a place to sit down when Bond started to explain the situation. Q and Bond had agreed on telling everything from the get go. If Scottie was in on the scam or whatever this was, they would be compromised no matter what. If he wasn’t then they could risk antagonising him by holding information back.

Scottie remained silent and Q tried to picture the two of them sitting next to each other at one of the tables in the pub. There was a long silence after Bond had finished his tale. Scottie cleared his throat before he started to speak.

“I was afraid something like this may happen. I had told Danny to drop it. But the young man is stubborn and hopelessly romantic. He really believed the paper would print the truth—or what he believes to be the truth.”

Scottie fell silent.

“He is visiting Alex’s parents. A place far out in the country side. He gave me the address even if they had requested he kept his visit to them a secret.”  
Again silence. Q could hear Bond swallow.

“Sometimes Danny surprises me. Despite all the tribulations of his life, he still trusts people. People like you and me.”

Scottie chuckled resignedly.

“I’ve tried to tell him time and again to be careful.”

They drank quietly.

“What do you know about Alex? And his parents?”  
“I know nothing, but I suspected Alex to be a spy. Like you. Maybe for MI5, if you don’t know him. Then again, he could have been a young recruit. He is younger than Danny. His parents? I have no idea. Danny showed me the letter, but it was a print out. Not even signed by hand.”

“Do you think Alex is in danger? That he may still be alive?”

Q hitched a breath. The silence lasted longer. When Scottie finally answered, it seemed as if he had leaned back, away from Bond.

“Do you even care about Danny? He is just a means to an end for you, isn’t he?”

Bond gave a noncommittal answer.

“Might I suggest you at least try to bring Danny back alive? Alex is in love with him, you know. I can see he is only useful for your friend,” the word was said with a certain derisiveness. “So he can prove, Danny in fact exists. And maybe use Danny to find Alex, if he is still alive, that is.”

Bond stayed silent for a beat too long.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pam is purring, but not for long.

There was a low chuckle from Scottie when Bond tried to say something. Q imagined Scottie shaking his head.

“Have you been wondering why Danny found the body? Why they, whoever they are, lured him back into the flat?”

Bond stayed silent, while Q’s mind was racing. Why indeed? And why would Holt go back in if he really had anything to do with whatever had occurred in there?

“They are looking for something. Something they haven’t found yet, something, they must have come to believe Danny has or would be able to find for them. And this invitation to meet Alex’s parents? Danny’s flat has been searched, you know. Not by the police, no.”

By the sound of it, Scottie was drinking some of his beer before he continued.

“They still haven’t found what they were looking for. Maybe Alex is dead and they need Danny, because he knows. Or Alex is alive and they need Danny to blackmail him into some kind of cooperation.”

Q started to tremble slightly. He has to be alive. His mind repeated the sentence over and over. An incantation, almost drowning out the next words from Scottie.

“You know, James, I am well aware of the fact that both Danny and I are mere pawns in this game. But Danny—Alex told me that Danny is his only friend, that he would never hurt Danny. I have seen the two of them together. Danny is besotted with Alex, but Alex—“

Scottie might have said more, but Q’s mind blanked. His only friend. How? How was that possible? As much as he had been fighting for them to stay together as a family, despite their mother’s inability to care for her children, he had always believed that Frances would have been able to provide Alex with a real family, with friends, with love and affection. What happened to the smiling, trusting toddler, who would squeal with delight whenever Q played hide and seek or found a notebook and some pencils for him to draw his elaborate patterns with?

Q had always believed Alex to be safe, to be better off than himself. The children's home had always been a place he would remember fondly, but it had its shortcoming. Ms Forger had made sure the children would make friends with each other. She would assess who would make a good team, who would need more encouragement or larger challenges. But she could never be a mother to all of them. Attention and affection was given in small doses, despite the best of her efforts.

She would tip off the agencies if some of the children showed promising potential. Thus, Bond’s recruitment to the navy had been one of the stories the children would whisper to newcomers. Telling them how Ms Forger would be able to spot their capabilities even if they just stayed at the home for a few months only. How she would make sure to alert whoever would be able to support and guide the youngster, creating a network of patrons for every child in her care. MI5 and MI6 had been huge beneficiaries over the years, being able to recruit agents and other personnel who would fit into their organisations painlessly.

Yes, Ms Forger expected them to work hard, to be disciplined. Still, there had always been time to roam free and enjoy life. Time to form deep and lasting friendships like Eve’s and his. And all of this was something he had just taken for granted, been convinced that Alex would have so much more than this. A family loving him unconditionally, a mother who would smother him with attention and tenderness.

Q pulled himself out of his gloomy thoughts when he realised that Bond and Scottie were saying their goodbyes. He once again traced both their ways through the city, deleting video footage, hiding any signs of him hacking into the systems. When both Scottie and Bond had reached unsuspicious places, Q shut his tracking programme and went into the kitchen. Pam and Turing followed and placed themselves on the window sill. While Q was preparing a cup of tea, he contemplated what Scottie had said about Alex and Holt.

Admittedly, Scottie’s assumption about Holt just being a means to an end had been correct. Neither Bond nor Q would have any qualms to sacrifice him if that meant they would find Alex and prove Q’s innocence.

Pam had found her way into Q’s arms, being stroked absentmindedly by him while he was looking out at London. She was purring a deep monotone, pushing her body up against Q’s chest.

Would Alex hold it against him if Holt’s death would bring him freedom? Was his relationship with Holt more than just a romantic crush? Alex was family, even if he didn’t remember his older brother. Q had no illusions about a happy reunion. They had both lived their separate lives so far. It would be hard work to earn the trust of Alex, no matter how unconditionally Q loved his brother. But could Holt be that important to Alex? Q’s love life hadn’t been promiscuous, but he could remember his first crushes believing he had met the love of his life, only to come to his senses a few months later. How long had Alex and Holt been together? Eight months? Wasn’t that about the time the insanity of falling in love eventually waned? How well did he know Holt? Had he been frank about his past? The information Q had been able to uncover about Holt, told the story of a troubled young man with a penchant for drugs and sexual deviance. He could see how easy it was to make MI6 believe they were one and the same person. It would have been exactly the kind of information Q would have tried to hide away about his own person. Frances had done a good job, making Q and Holt appear as the same person.

But why was Scottie still out there? What was his part in all of this? With all of the information he could provide, why hadn’t he been taken? Or killed off? Why had MI6 not made the connection between Holt and Scottie?

Q heard the door open and Pam’s purring became more sinister, her tail swishing indignantly. Bond had returned home. Q turned, letting Pam jump from his arms. Bond was leaning against the side of the doorway, arms crossed, watching Q intently. Q was looking back at him. Bond, his lover and best friend, his family. More than family, because they had chosen each other, become blood brothers in every sense that counted. They had a history, rows and heartbreak, make up sex and late night talks, saving the life of the other, watch the other die and return from death. They could communicate with winks and a mere huff of breath. It had taken years of working together, years of learning to trust the other.

Would Alex be able to forgive him if Holt was harmed? If they had to choose between keeping him safe or finding Alex? Q swallowed helplessly, looking with tears in his eyes at Bond.

“Take me to bed, please,” he whispered.

Bond didn’t move, just held Q’s look, contemplating. A small nod, indicating Q to stay where he was, then Bond turned and walked towards their bedroom. When he returned, he placed a black silk scarf and two leather cuffs on the kitchen table in front of Q. Bond had taken off his jacket and shoes. Now, he stood in front of Q, waiting. Q bowed his head and took a deep breath. When he looked back up at Bond, he nodded. Bond would take care of him.

Bond stepped closer and took off Q’s glasses. Then he took the scarf and folded it several times before tying it over Q’s eyes. Q’s breathing slowed and he focussed on the small sounds made by Bond as he moved around him. With gentle fingers Bond opened Q’s shirt and let it fall from his shoulders. Before he put on the cuffs, Bond let his fingers trail down Q’s chest, pinching his nipples one at a time. When the cuffs were in place, Q could feel the world fall away.

Bond continued his ministrations, cupping Q’s growing erection with one hand. Slipping his other hand into Q’s hair, he turned Q’s head and bared his neck for him to kiss. His actions were gently at first, tentatively almost, as if checking Q’s reaction. Then the kiss turned into a bite, hard enough to leave marks and Q’s knees gave way, certain that Bond would catch him, hold him. Embracing Q with both arms now, Bond continued to leave small bruises wherever he could reach. Q could feel each scratch, could feel his skin react. Warmth, pain—lust, when Bond found a new spot to fondle and lick. Q’s hands were cuffed at the small of his back, trapped between their bodies, leaving Q exposed and vulnerable.

With one hand, Bond opened Q’s belt and pulled his trousers and pants down. Q felt like a puppet without strings. If Bond were to let go of him now, he would just collapse on the kitchen floor. Instead Bond nuzzled into his hair.

“Still with me, love?”

The words were spoken softly, a breath into Q’s hair and he let his head loll onto Bond’s shoulder in reply. Untangling Q’s feet from the pool of trousers, Bond unceremoniously lifted him and carried him into their bedroom. He turned him onto his stomach, turning his head to the side so Q could breathe freely. Q felt boneless, relaxed. His arousal palpable and increasing when he heard Bond undress, the rustle of clothes giving it away. Bond’s breathing hitched when he pushed Q’s knees up under his body, raising his arse and exposing Q’s cock and balls to the cold air.

“Look at you, my beautiful boy.” Bond said quietly, one hand stroking down between Q’s buttocks, along his perineum and then fondling his balls.

Q made small sounds, tensing up when he felt Bond’s hands on him. His cock was hard, feeling wet when its tip touched his belly. He could feel Bond’s fingers, now lubed, gently, slowly pushing into him. His muscles relaxed, opening to one, then two fingers. Bond pushing in and out, carefully scissoring his digits, widening, loosening the sphincter. Q’s breathing became harsher, and he whined when Bond’s fingers ghosted over his prostate the first time. He pushed back into Bond, urging him on, sobbing and pleading under his breath. It felt like an eternity before Q heard the revealing sound of tearing plastic, the emptiness inside when Bond pulled out his fingers, and finally, finally felt the stretch, the hands on his side, fingers digging small wounds into his skin, when Bond pushed in, slowly at first, then started pounding with abundance, pushing Q into the mattress with the weight of his body. Q cried and sobbed, pushing back helplessly, his own cock sliding in the messy wetness between his body and the sheets underneath him. He was enveloped in the smell of semen and sweat, the taste of tears on his tongue, and the feeling of safety, of love. Bond pushed deeper, harder, then his body turned rigid and he came, shouting Q’s name.

Still in the throes of his orgasm, Bond turned Q’s face so he could kiss him, teasing his lips apart and pushing in his tongue, exploring, conquering. His hand was stroking hard and fast, pushing Q over the edge, his own cock still buried deeply inside of him. Q screamed, pushing back against Bond, spilling into the sheets, while his body spasmed uncontrolled. Bond held him tight, now kissing him gently, licking the tears away. Q continued to snivel.

Bond shushed him, releasing him from the cuffs but kept the blindfold on. He knew Q well enough to let him cry through the remnants of his orgasm. Bond was the only one who had ever been privy to Q’s uninhibited reactions to sexual satisfaction. The first time it happened, Bond had been consoling but not smothering, sure he hadn’t hurt him. Accepting him as he was. Q had felt unselfconscious for the first time in his life.

It was turning dark outside and they stayed entangled, together. Much later, Bond would clean them and change the sheets. They would sleep and wake up. Ready to find Holt, ready to get to know the truth about this whole affair.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Danny takes a walk in the maze.

Danny was lying on the bed, watching Alex getting dressed and readying himself for the day. He was still trying to process what had happened the days before, that Alex was indeed alive. That he had found him, that they were together again. The stupid smile on his face wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard he tried.

Alex turned to him with his sad eyes.

“Danny, I’ll have to go soon.”

He spoke in his quiet, solemn voice, only the small tremble in his hand betraying his anxiousness.

“It’s okay, Alex. I’ll be fine, I promise.”  
“You don’t know what they are capable of doing, Danny. This isn’t a game.”

At that, Danny’s smile faltered.

“But I do, Alex. I found the body, remember?”

He got up from the bed and crossed the room to embrace Alex.

“I’ll be safe. Frances won’t hurt me.”

Alex returned the embrace, tightening his arms desperately around Danny.

“It’s not Frances, you should be afraid of,” he whispered into Danny’s ear. “Please, Danny, promise me to watch out. You shouldn’t have come here in the first place.”

A tear rolled down Alex face and Danny caught it with his fingertip.

“I promise, Alex.”

A knock announced the guard who was to bring Alex to his workplace. They hadn’t talked about what Alex was working on. Danny assumed he wouldn’t understand half of it anyway—and Alex obviously thought it was safer for Danny to know as little as possible.

They kissed, while the guard respectfully turned away, and then Alex had to go. Danny stood in the middle of the room, when the door was closed and locked. He turned and looked at the bed. With a shrug, he lied down again and thought about the events of last night.

Frances had been furious when they had been taken to dinner in the large dining room. Apparently, they weren’t prisoners the way Danny had imagined—fed with stale bread and a mug of slimy water. Instead, Alex made them dress up and in the last minute Danny decided to change the nice white shirt with one of his old washed out t-shirts. He knew Frances would not approve and somehow he wanted to get back at her.

Alex had been quiet, his hands trembling, when they were led down to the dining room. When Danny took his hand, Alex flinched, obviously lost in thought and not expecting to be touched. They were seated opposite each other, with Frances at one end of the table and Charles at the other end. As before, Charles looked disapprovingly at Danny but didn’t utter one word during the whole dinner. Frances was not so forthcoming, every small digression was commented upon and she made it quite clear what she thought about Danny’s attire. She kept calling him ‘Peter’ and Alex ‘Alistair’ and Danny was too befuddled to correct her. When she started to berate Alex for not having greeted her properly, Danny was so surprised, he knocked over the wineglass. Frances turned her scorn on him instead.

It turned out to be a huge mistake on her part.

Danny had never seen Alex so afraid. He had no idea what kind of power Frances had over Alex, but he decided there and then that he would do anything to keep Alex safe from her. Danny knew how to draw attention to himself, how to turn an aggressor from a weaker target towards him. Not that he thought himself to be strong, but he knew that Frances couldn’t hurt him with her derisive words. This meant that Danny kept knocking over glasses, spilling sauce on the table, even had one of the potatoes rolling across the table towards Charles, who ended the meal by pointedly throwing his napkin on his dish, pushing back his chair noisily and slamming the large oak tree door behind him. Danny had suppressed a smile, devising new plans for his ongoing campaign of driving Alex’s parents mad at him.

In the end, Frances herself stood and left the room with a terse nod at Alex, trying to ignore Danny who was fighting with a piece of lettuce, which he had to extract from between his teeth with his fingers.

Once Frances was gone as well, Danny continued his meal in silence, smiling smugly at himself. Alex had relaxed as well. The tremble in his hand had vanished and he even looked shyly at Danny.

When they had been returned to their room, Danny wanted to know what Alex thought would be happening the next days. Scottie knew he was here, and he had been due to come home the day before. His mobile had been taken, but there was no mobile coverage anyway. 

Alex sat down on the bed. Danny sat down as well and leaned into him.

“Is it always like this? When you have to be with your mother?”

“She isn’t my mother, Danny.” Alex was silent for a beat. “But yes, I’m terrified of her. I cannot explain why. It’s just that I am.”

He swallowed and looked at Danny with fear in his eyes. Danny recognised the look from the times, Alex had told him about his virginity and all the other times, he had been afraid of Danny’s reactions to Alex’s perceived shortcomings. He cocked his head and looked up at Alex.

“I know how that feels, Alex. I really do. And Frances can be terrifying.”

Danny could see the relief, when Alex’s eyes widened in disbelieve before he hugged and kissed him softly. Alex then explained about his daily routine without disclosing anything about the why and the where, both of them realising it would be dangerous for Danny to know. They had no idea what was going to happen and why Danny was here. Alex suspected they would use him as a pledge. If Alex made mistakes or refused to work, like he had done the days before Danny arrived, they would probably punish Danny. Something, which Danny was surprisingly okay with.

Lying in bed, Danny was thinking about how this could become their place. How they would live here together, drive Frances and Charles insane, Alex working on his secret stuff, while Danny would teach him about the pleasures of sex and seduction. Despite all the warnings and fearful looks from Alex, Danny couldn’t help to feel elated and happy.

Not for the first time, he was wondering why everybody in this household was so afraid. Even Frances, trying to convince him of Alex’s wild sex life. They were all afraid of something or someone.

But the one thing that truly puzzled him was Frances insistence on calling him Peter. He couldn’t understand why she would think he was Alex’s brother. Who was she kidding? Or—maybe, maybe someone was playing her as well?

That would explain why she was trying to have him stop his own investigation. And somebody was trying to convince Frances that he was Peter, Alex’s brother. Danny frowned. Was it to put extra pressure on Frances? Even if she wasn’t Alex’s biological mother, having the brothers back together might mean further complications for Frances. Especially if she thought Peter wouldn’t have known about his younger brother or the whole affair of stealing the kids in the first place.

Danny had always thought his own family was messed up. But this? This was a whole other level of cock-up. And that woman, who had been in the other house? Pretending that it was there, Alex had lived? She was Alex’s real mother? Maybe that was why she had been reluctant to let him leave for the manor. If she believed Danny to be her other long lost son?

Then again, maybe all of this had nothing to do with him, but everything to do with the real Peter? 

With a shake of his head, Danny dismissed further speculations. Instead, he decided it was time to get up and see if he could get someone to take him outside. He really needed a fag and some fresh air.

It took a while before the door was opened after he had been banging away on it. He had just entertained the idea of throwing the chair at the door, when he heard the key being turned. It was Frances, looking as annoyed as ever, which Danny put down as a score in his mental tally.

“Smoking?”

God, could she really look anymore displeased, Danny thought, hiding his smug smile and suppressing a very inappropriate giggle. Despite her seemingly increasing anger, she relented and took him outside.

“Before you get any bright ideas, Peter, the ground is guarded and fenced off. No point in trying to escape.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Frances. Alex is here, and as long as he is, I’ll be here as well.”

And another point on the score board for Danny. Funny, how names could get these people riled, he thought. He didn’t like being called ‘Peter’ but he was able to shrug it off. The name meant nothing to him, and if it meant that he could stay together with Alex, where was the point in getting irritated.

Instead, he finished rolling his cigarette and let Frances light it for him, her eye roll included. They walked into the huge maze, the silence between them less hostile than inside the house. The sounds from the surrounding woods diminished and the narrow path in between the large hedges of thuja trees created a kind of intimate and safe space.

“You know, Peter, Alistair completed that maze unassisted, three months before his fifth birthday. Others considered him to be disturbed, but what they saw as a disturbance of the mind was, in fact, an exceptional gift. However, it's not enough in this world to be born brilliant you need direction and discipline.”

Danny listened, interested in getting to know more about this part of Alex’s life. Something, he very rarely spoke about and having met Frances, Danny couldn’t blame him.

“What happened with you, Peter? You had the same potential, and now look at you.”

Danny heaved a sigh and shook his head.

“Frances, I’m not Peter. I don’t know why you insist on calling me by that name—but as you time and again point out to me, I’m not that brilliant young man Peter probably is today. I’ve never lived in that orphanage. No discipline or guidance would help me get anywhere near Alex’s power of mind.”

He inhaled deeply, looking down.

“Not much potential lost here.”

They had made it to far end of the maze when Frances turned around and looked back up towards the manor. They were hidden from anyone trying to watch them from the upper storey windows. Danny had finished his cigarette and was watching Frances with curiosity. She turned her head, listening. There was only silence around them. Not even birds were heard inside the hedges. Frances put her fingers to her temple, as if in pain. When she looked at Danny, her whole demeanour had changed and he took a surprised step back.

“Danny, listen! Do you have it? Did you find Alex’s code?”

France’s voice was pleading, her anger replaced with serious concern. Danny just barely stopped himself from gaping stupidly at her.

“What?”

“Oh stop it. Alex must have hidden it somewhere for you to find. To ensure his safety.”

“What are you talking about?”

Danny was genuinely confused. He had no idea what Frances was driving at. Much less, how some kind of code would keep Alex safe.

“The programme Alex was working on. He had finished it, when they took him. At least,” she suddenly seemed to realise something. “At least that is what they had made me believe. Did Alex ever talk with you about his work? What he was working on?”

“No. Never. And I didn’t ask. I mean, I know, it’s secret. Frances,” Danny stepped closer. “I really don’t know what is going on. All I care about is getting Alex back. He needs his work, I understand that. And I mean, if you want him to stay here, maybe we could work something out.”

Frances looked at him with utter disbelief.

“You really have no idea what you are dealing with, do you?”

Danny shrugged his shoulders.

“Would it help?”

They had spoken in hushed voices and Frances had lead the way towards the centre of the maze, all the time making sure that they couldn’t be watched from the house. Now, they were standing at an overgrown statue. Frances turned towards Danny, her back to the sculpture. She was just about to say something, when a man appeared from behind the bushes, a finger to his lips and looking pointedly between Danny and Frances. Before Danny could give the man away, he had closed in on Frances, grabbing her from behind and pressing his hand over her mouth, effectively keeping her from shouting. Flabbergasted, Danny just stared at the pair in front him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody is frightened.

Bond took a few jabs to his ribs and Frances also put in a kick to his shin, but he was able to keep her subdued and quiet. Fortunately, the young man in front of him kept quiet as well. He just stood there, watching the two of them with a puzzled look. Bond had to keep his own surprise in check. That guy looked eerily like Q. Put on a pair of glasses, lose the stubble and he could pass as his twin anytime.

“Just relax, Frances. I won’t hurt you if you just keep quiet.”

Bond’s voice was calm and hushed. He needed her and Holt to understand he was no threat to them. After his meeting with Scottie, they had been able to find this place. Once Q had the address, they had conceived a plan for Bond to enter the premises unseen. They had studied old maps as well as the electricity network and sewage to find hidden entrances into the main building. Q was surprised by the amount of electricity used, but discovered that a huge basement must have been dug out and turned into some kind of laboratory only a few years back. Despite his best efforts, he had not been able to penetrate the network security of the servers stationed in it. Which in the end was the reason why Bond had to be here in person, trying to figure out what really was going on and if possible find Alex.

As it was, Bond was motioning to Holt to follow him through the hedge to the back of the statue. A small door was barely visible behind the shrub. It was the end of an old priest hole which Bond knew would lead to the middle of the house, maybe even have direct access to the laboratory. Holt opened the door and let Bond pass with a struggling Frances. Inside, the corridor was empty and dark. Holt looked at Bond before he slowly put his hand into one of Frances pockets, extracting a lighter and turning it on. He closed the door behind them.

Bond gagged Frances, who tried to protest, then tied her up securely. He sat her down in the ground, tied to some of the extruding bolts from the wooden panels of the walls. Holt stood by, watching but not trying to interfere. Q was getting a bit anxious over the comms, several times trying to get Bond to explain about the situation, but only getting small grunts as answers. Holt seemed perfectly contented to be waiting for whatever was in store for him.

Finally finished, Bond turned to Holt.

“So, you’re Holt, I presume?” he said with a grin.

“Danny Holt, yes.”

The answer was said with a soft, wary voice.

“Bond, James Bond.”

When Holt didn’t react, Bond started to explain about him and Q—Peter, that was—and their search for Alex. When he mentioned Alex, Holt did light up and seemed to lose all his caution. He told Bond what he knew about the place and the people in it. Through it all, Bond sensed a mounting feeling of distress, as if some kind of doom was awaiting him just down the corridor. They had found a few old candles and the light in the tunnel was rather dim, which of course added to the gloomy feeling. But this feeling of dread was something unexpected. Even more so, since Holt did look and sound excited and almost happy, as if playing some kind of adventure game.

Q must have heard something in Bond’s voice, because he started to ask pointed questions to make sure Bond still was safe and could talk freely. Neither of them knew Holt. And while Bond had the benefit of having the man walking beside him, clearly happy to talk about Alex and Frances and whatever he had made of the whole business, Q could only listen to Bond’s part of the conversation with no way to determine whether Holt was a threat or not.

No, it definitely wasn’t Holt, Bond was afraid of. But still, the feeling of panic was increasing while they slowly moved forward through the tunnel. As Q had predicted, they had to be underneath the house when a door blocked their way. It looked new but unused going by the dust gathering in front of it. Holt kept out of the way as Bond carefully opened it. No creaking was heard and it swung open toward them. As lucky as Bond should be feeling, he couldn’t shake the sense of terror. On the other side of the door was another passageway, this one brightly lit up, with white walls and a concrete floor.

“You were right, Q,” Bond whispered, motioning Holt to stay behind him. “They’ve build their own little lab down here.”

The corridor opened up into a large underground hall, not unlike Q branch. Bond and Holt had found a hiding place behind some of the larger desks and cupboards on one side of the room, when Bond was no longer able to keep his fear under control.

It felt like a black abyss was opening right underneath him, the sounds of hundreds of lost souls screaming at him, shaming him for their deaths, for his short comings, his faults. Bond curled up on himself, whimpering, trying to hide from the world, from his own thoughts, memories, imaginings.

Someone touched him. Soft, encouraging words were spoken quietly. He was held tight, his head tucked safely into the crook of a neck, hands stroking soothingly over his back. The voice in his ear, it was well known, loved even, but in another life. It had to be, because he couldn’t remember. He couldn’t remember who was talking, couldn’t understand the words, because the noise in his head was too loud. He couldn’t open his eyes, terrified by what he might see. His mind’s eyes provided vivid pictures of explosions, people torn apart limb by limb, blood and gore thrown at him, dripping from him. And the black abyss kept swallowing him up.

Danny had been taken by surprise when Bond suddenly lay on the floor, huddling in on himself, hands clasped in front of his eyes, biting his lower lip as if not to scream. Keeping a look out at the people in the lab, Danny crouched down and took Bond into his arms like a frightened child. He spoke to him, trying to calm him, while mildly panicking himself. Bond clung to him, unable to move, trembling and tears streaming down his face. Danny forced himself out of his own growing fear, shaking his head and trying to think. _The earpiece! The earpiece that connected this man with someone outside!_

As gentle as possible, Danny took the small device and put it inside his own ear. It didn’t fit well, but he could hear the voice of another person, Peter or—Q? That was what Bond had called him.

“Q?” Danny said tentatively.

Dead silence on the other end.

“Who is this?”

The voice was cold, demanding.  
“Danny. Danny Holt. I’m, I don’t know what is happening.”

Danny spoke as silent as possible, casting glances around him, fearing they might be discovered any time now.

“Bond is. Well, he is frightened. Like, really frightened. He can’t do anything, I’m trying to calm him, but we’re in this lab and there are people everywhere.”

Danny swallowed. He was sure, Alex was somewhere close by but he couldn’t see him. And he was afraid what might happen, if they were found in the middle of this place. This was clearly meant to be secret.

“Okay,” Q cleared his throat. “Okay, Holt, listen. I need you to describe the place as precise as possible. If we can close down the network and breach the security…”

Danny could hear some tapping and what sounded like a huff, before Q asked him to begin. Without stopping his calming caresses of Bond, Danny gave a thorough explanation of the layout of the space around him including number of people, computers and furniture. He still couldn’t see Alex anywhere, but a few doors on the other side of the room could lead to other rooms and of course to the house above them.

“Would you be able to cut some of the cables? Create some kind of commotion, maybe shutdown the electricity?”

Danny frowned. He could hear the desperation in Q’s voice. If Bond had been capable, he would probably already have taken down half of the people in here and shut down the main server or whatever these things were called. Instead, Danny was watching, trying to find some kind of pattern in the way, people were going to and fro, who did what when. Bond continued to tremble in his arms, despite Danny’s attempts to comfort him. He had no idea why the man was so frightened. It reminded him of Frances and Charles, the way they looked worried, fearful. The woman who was Alex’s mother, how terrified she had been. And Alex, whose hands trembled when he had to leave their room this morning.

Danny began to watch the people, really look at them. Their faces, their demeanour, the way they spoke in hushed voices, shoulders hunched.

“Q, I don’t know how this can help, but,” Danny tried to figure out how to say this without sounding utterly stupid. “Everybody in here is afraid. Uhm, like. As if this place makes them afraid. Kind of.”

He petered out lamely. Q was silent at first, Danny could only hear him breathe.

“Can you move Bond?”

Danny looked at the man in his arms, utterly helpless.

“Maybe?”

He answered uncertainly.

“Try and get him out of there. Back into the tunnel.”

As calm as Danny had felt, the idea of stumbling along with Bond, being the one responsible to get them both back to a safe place, sent a spike of fear through him. Just when he had made up his mind and had talked himself into doing something, there was a small commotion at one of the far away doors. A small group of people entered the large room and everybody seemed to freeze, turning demurely to the figure in the middle of the group.

“An elderly lady,” Danny began to report unprompted. “Or, well she looks old. Older than Frances. Her hair is grey, tucked up in a bun, and she wears glasses. And tweeds. Everybody is kind of bowing to her, waiting for her to do something, I guess.”

Bond relaxed a little bit in his arms, as if he was coming back to his senses. Danny continued narrating every little detail about the lady, his voice turning ever lower, because the whole room slowly fell silent. The computer fans being the only sound heard in the end.

The group went to the far end of the room, shoes clicking on the floor. They gathered around a large chair and some computer desks. The lady sat down in the chair, overlooking the room like a benevolent queen looking at her minions, and with a small wave of her hand, everybody turned back to their work. Danny looked for any signs of distress on her and the group, that had entered the room with her. She was smiling, almost cheerfully, while the rest of the group seemed as anxious as the other people in the room. Alex was still nowhere to be seen. Then, once more the door opened and a huge black Persian cat came strolling in.

“She looks gorgeous,” Danny couldn’t help to tell Q.

The cat marched like an emperor through the room and then jumped up into the lady’s lap. Danny thought he could hear it purring.

“A black Persian?” Q sounded shocked. “Could you describe the woman once more, please?”

The last words were said almost imperceptibly quiet. Danny sat out another detailed description, this time even explaining the pattern of the tweeds. Q grew more and more silent as Danny’s account went on.

“You have to get Bond out of there. Now!”

Somehow Danny managed to get both of them back into the tunnel. In the end, the arrival of the lady had been enough to keep the minions occupied. Closing the door behind them, Danny let himself fall against it, relieved they had made it so far without being discovered.

Bond came to slowly. He looked as if he had seen ghosts or demons, before he got up on his feet with a grunt. Danny returned the earpiece, and got Bond moving back towards the entrance. Bond had his head bowed, listening to Q’s explanation, while Danny tried to get his own thoughts into some kind of order. What had he just been witnessing? Why was everyone afraid? And what could frighten someone like Bond? He had an idea about him being in the spy business as well, with all the secrecy and tech stuff. Shouldn’t someone like him be able to deal with fear?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The big reveal...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and I am so so sorry [a-forger-and-a-point-man](http://a-forger-and-a-point-man.tumblr.com). It's all [10moonymhrivertam's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/10moonymhrivertam) fault when she wrote that comment on chapter 4.
> 
> *hides away*

It took a few minutes for Bond to regain a feeling of control and a sense of safety, before he even could begin to understand what Q was trying to tell him. At first it sounded like gibberish and once he began to understand the words he was sure that he had misheard. Q had to repeat what had happened several times, before Bond would accept his account. But the worst part was yet to come.

Q said a name. And Bond just froze in his steps, causing Holt to walk straight into him. Bond turned around to look at him.

“Are you sure?”

“He described her perfectly well. You need to question Frances. She must know something.”

Q’s voice turned dark.  
“Use force if you have to. I want to get to the bottom of this and she is our best chance right now. No matter what, you and Holt are compromised anyway. They will probably start looking for him and Frances soon.”

Bond shook his head. It didn’t make sense.

“But how do they do it? I was paralysed, Q. I couldn’t move. Just—panicked.”

Bond swallowed. It wasn’t easy to admit. But Holt had been there, had seen him. Dragged him back to safety, somehow.

“And why didn’t it happen to Holt, Q? What is this?”

Q didn’t have an answer and by now, Bond and Holt had returned to Frances. She looked as if she had just been waiting for them, but Bond was wary, when he helped her stand and took away the gag. She didn’t try to run or scream, she just scowled at him and Holt, who stood back, arms crossed and frowning.

Bond was getting himself into the right mindset for a questioning that could turn violent, only to be surprised when Frances answered every question he had. She even seemed to urge him on.

“Look, Bond, this is not for fun. There will be people looking for me and Danny any time soon. He,” she pointed an accusing finger at Holt. “He has the code.”

Holt looked confused.

“What code?”

Bond wanted to ask the same question.

“More pointedly, what is this lab about? Why,” Bond hesitated the slightest moment, “why is everybody afraid in there—except for Holt?”

Frances rolled her eyes.

“That’s what this is all about. The whole estate is a trial run for world domination.”

Bond smiled sarcastically, Holt just stood open mouthed.

“Imagine, Bond. Imagine, if this lab is expanded. To a city, maybe a small town to begin with. Inducing fear in people, even being able to adjust the level of fear.”

Bond shuddered.  
“Except, it didn’t work on Holt.”

He pointed out. Frances looked from Bond to Holt with a haughty smile.

“You really have no idea what you are dealing with, do you?”

She took a deep breath.

“Alis— Alex is working on a programme which examines people. The way they talk, behave, their routines, work, hobbies… everything. Every tiny little piece of knowledge, you can find in the world of data, online and off-line. Trawling through the Internet and CCTV, through classified files and childhood memories. Alex had ample data to work with. Ms Forger had files on every little child she sent away to work for the secret services of the Western world.”

Bond paled when he heard the name. Q had been right. She was the leader of this place. And if Frances was telling the truth, she had been planning this for decades. Frances continued with a certain amount of glee.

“Imagine this little army of secret agents, turned into whimpering small babies whenever she pushes the right button.”

“But, if this already works, what does she need Alex for?”

Holt had been listening in silence so far.

“The programme still needs tuning. So far, Ms Forger had been unable to automatically collect all the needed data. That’s why you have been unaffected.”

Frances looked down.

“What? There is more, isn’t there?”

Holt challenged her.

“That’s what I think. Alex wouldn’t tell me. But,” Frances looked at Holt again, assessing. “Ms Forger thinks he had programmed some kind of scrambling virus, which would take out the programme if it ever is released.”

Holt took a step back, eyes widening.

“I knew it!”

Frances stepped forward, her arms crossed.

“You did find it, didn’t you?”

Holt bid his lip and gave a small nod.

“Where is it? We need it. Here! Now! It would end all of this. We could take her down.”

Frances hissed the last words.

“Is that all we need? How is the programme able to affect my mind?”

Bond broke in. He hoped, Q would have some clue about this _thing_.

“For now, she has set up small beacons all over the place. They are transferring the signals. If we manage to take down two of them and start Alex’s programme, it should be enough to enable the virus to work.”

Frances turned to Holt again.

“Where. Is. It?”

Holt swallowed and looked at Bond, who nodded.

“We’ll need Scottie’s help. He knows the place. And, and I still haven’t figured out how to open the cylinder.” Holt whispered helplessly.

Immediately, Bond told Q to get hold of Scottie and alert M. They had to make sure, Six knew what was going on. Everybody who had been at Forger’s home might be compromised or even a mole. Q fell silent when he too realised the extent and implications. Bond hoped Q would be able to convince M and Scottie of the urgency. Right now, they had to take a decision. Wait till the cylinder was retrieved and Holt or Q figured out how to open it—or risk Frances changing sides again. Bond went a bit down the tunnel to discuss the matter with Q. Before they could agree on a plan, Holt came for Bond.

“Frances and I are going back in. I might be able to get Alex to tell me the combination needed for the cylinder. If you stay nearby, we could try and contact you tomorrow morning? Taking a walk in the labyrinth again?”

He looked at Frances. She nodded.

“Are you sure nothing will happen until morning? How close are they at getting this to work on a larger scale?”

Frances gave a terse smile.

“Alex is stalling them.” She turned to Holt, looking directly at him. “He is risking his life, Danny. Ms Forger has threatened to put him back in that trunk and turn up the fear index.”

Holt looked down, shoulders slumped.

“Okay,” Bond told both of them. “Get out of here. Look as if you had a big row or something, but make up before you part tonight. You have to be believable to take that walk tomorrow.”

Nobody came to meet them when Frances and Danny returned to the house. Danny was nervous but able to hide it behind his curiosity. Frances showed him Alex’s old room and even took him back to the large living room, sitting in front of the fire, talking quietly about Alex and his childhood. Danny almost forgot about the danger they were in. Only when Alex returned and they had a quiet dinner—Danny keeping up his annoying habits, mostly for the sake of Charles, who seemed to be just an outsider with nothing to do except to disapprove of Alex and his friend.

When they finally were led back to their cell, Alex turned and embraced Danny as soon as the door was closed behind them. He just held on, trembling and crying, unable to speak. And Danny held him, pressing small kisses in his hair and whispering endearments. With gentle hands he started to undress them both, leading Alex to bed and tucking him in, before he laid down beside him.

Danny kept on caressing and soothing Alex as best he could. They didn’t speak, and Danny was too concerned with Alex to even think about his task regarding the code for the cylinder. Alex relaxed little after little.

“You’re the only one, Danny.”

Alex was just about to fall asleep, when he mumbled the words and Danny kissed him chastely, softly stroking his cheek.

“I love you, Alex.”

With that, he spooned Alex and kept him safe for the night.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end - for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this story is such a mess. And ends even messier. I hope the main plot is clear enough - and, who knows, maybe I'll be able to tell the story of Alex's and Q's reunion in this universe one day.

If possible, the next morning Alex was even more stressed than the night before. They barely spoke as Danny instinctively stayed close, grounding Alex with small touches and kisses. Alex responded with a needy physicality, almost on the verge of tears, when the guard came to take him away from the room. Danny tried to smile reassuringly, afraid to acknowledge what the next hours might bring about.

When Frances came, he was ready and asked politely if they could have another look at Alex’s room, where he had worked on his algorithms and mathematical problems. Standing in the middle of the chalk covered walls, Danny tried to imagine a combination of numbers that would make sense. Frances kept a respectful silence, knowing what was at stake.

And then it hit Danny. Alex’s comment the night before. His anxiousness, easily explained by the programme driving everyone mad in this house. But maybe, maybe he knew what Danny had been up to. The only one. They had this discussion, several times. About soulmates, about knowing other people. Only one. One.

Danny turned to Frances with a bright smile on his face.

“Let’s have a walk in that labyrinth again.”

Security was incredible easy to avoid, Bond thought. Then again, when you had a programme like this fear index thing, you wouldn’t need much security in the first place. Q had been able to persuade Scottie into helping them, on the condition that they didn’t try to follow him to this secret place. He had returned with the cylinder the night before and Q had tried to open it to no avail.

As Frances, Holt, and Bond had gathered in the small tunnel underneath the statue, Holt told Q to turn the digit to 000001. When Q exclaimed a relieved ‘Yes’, Holt didn’t hide his smug smile. The next part was easy, at least for Holt. Neither Frances nor Bond would have been able to get anywhere close to the beacons, while Holt was able to dismantle them without any problems. Once that was achieved, Q was ready to start the virus. Almost immediately, both Bond and Frances could feel a difference. They were able to get into the lab, where the initial confusion was replaced by a panicked evacuation when the minions realised that their leader had left them as soon as the first beacons had been taken down.

They found Alex collapsed in a small computer room. Holt was the only one he would allow close to him and instead Bond concentrated on detaining the lab workers and making sure they wouldn’t destroy any of their work. Q had told them that he would arrive together with Tanner and Moneypenny to take stock of the situation. M had deployed a smaller group of rather new agents, who never had any dealings with Forger’s home.

Bond had sent Holt and Alex back to the privacy of their cell, knowing both of them would need some time to recover before people wanted to interrogate Alex. Bond felt bad for Q’s younger brother. As fragile as Q looked, Bond knew how tough and resilient he was. Alex’s demeanour was far more adamant and inscrutable, which only made his breakdown worse. Holt was indispensable in this situation. Despite his reservations Bond had to admit Holt had proven his worth and even now he was able to stay out of the way and let people do their work. No hysterics or other antics, just a deep and heartfelt concern for his lover.

Several days would pass, before Bond once again was at home in their flat, able to hug Q tight and fight off Pam’s usual aggressiveness. Q had not yet been allowed to meet Alex, both Holt and MI6’s psych department had denied any contact between the brothers for the next days. Alex had suffered a nervous breakdown, caused not only by the continued work under duress, but also by the realisation that Holt had been in mortal danger. Several of Forger’s minions had explained about her plans, in which Holt just had been a means to keep Alex in line.

In the end, it would take a month before Alex would be reunited with his brother, a man who looked eerily like his lover. Danny could finally understand why Bond had side-eyed him during their first meeting. Lose the glasses and let him develop a bit of scruff, and Q would pass as Danny’s twin any time. Alex was unable to show any kind of reaction during this first meeting. Danny knew he was trying to keep his emotions in check, too many years under the strict upbringing of Frances had taken its toll, and the last months had only enhanced Alex’s need to suppress his immediate reactions.

It would take most of a year before the brothers would be able to work together, but they would get there in the end.


End file.
